Captured Voice
by Oneturtledove
Summary: The more faithfully you listen to the voices within you, the better you will hear what is sounding outside.


Disclaimer: Not mine, I wish, the end.

Spoilers: Up through This Is Not Happening and the beginning of DeadAlive. Takes place when Mulder is "dead", before they pull the casket up.

A/N: I got this idea while watching Teliko after talking about Teliko with Teliko.x3. This is dedicated to her and Piper Maru Duchovny, my Philey daughters, because they are awesome and I love them.

This is shorter than I intended, not exactly what I had planned, but sometimes these things take on a life of their own. It turned out more like a free-write than anything, but I think that is what the story called for.

**"The more faithfully you listen to the voices within you, the better you will hear what is sounding outside."**

* * *

When she first found the cardboard box, she glanced through it briefly, then tossed it onto the desk. She could go through it later; there were more important things to do now. She had to get the spare room in order for the baby. He/she/ it was coming in a few months, and while he/she/it would be in a bassinet in her room at first, he/she/it would eventually have to have a room of their own.

It was over a week later when she finally opened the box again. Every mini-cassette was in its place, filed chronologically from March of 1992 through May of 2000. Seven years of autopsy dictations, all contained on over 100 small cassette tapes. She was actually surprised that they had all survived. Of course, the paperwork had been consumed in the office fire, but the tapes had been sitting in her guest room at the time. Still, with all the sabotages of their work, it was a miracle that these tapes still even existed. She figured it might help Agent Doggett if she dictated these again and put them into the files that Mulder been trying to replace over the past two years. She started at the beginning and was through the first few when she heard Mulder's voice breaking into her medical jargon.

_"Hey Scully, is it just me or is this town- whoa, did you take that guys head off?"  
"Just the top. Is this town what?"  
_

After that, she stopped listening so much to her autopsy notes and started listening for his voice. It happened a lot; he would come into the room and make a comment of some kind before she managed to turn off the recorder. She loved hearing his voice, she always had. But now that he was gone and she was alone, it was about the only thing she had left. His voice and the tiny life growing inside her.

With the help of Byers (the only Gunman who would never speak a word of this to anyone), she compiled all the snippets of Mulder's voice onto a CD. It may have been out of character, it may have been pathetic, but she was a hormonal woman in mourning, not to mention a sucker for romanticism. She played the CD twice a night. Once with the headphones on her stomach, and once as she drifted off to sleep.

_"I just got to be honest with you Scully. Scrubs really show off your-"  
"I have a scalpel, Mulder."_

_"Did you find out what happened to this guy yet, or am I going to have to snap on the latex too?"_

_"I got a theory, want to hear it?"  
"Wanna hear me poke holes in it?"  
"Always. But seriously, want to hear it?"  
"Mulder, I just so happen to be holding a lung. I'm not really at a stopping point."  
"That's a lung?"  
"Well it isn't a trout."_

More often than not, the small exchanges made her grin. She could remember almost every conversation. The way he looked at her, the way he stood, what suit he was wearing, the expression on his face. These memories comforted her and enabled her to get through another day.

But then there were the conversations that made her heart lurch. The ones that she remembered all too clearly. These were the ones that she tried to tune out; ignore the words and concentrate on the sound of his voice. But it didn't matter. These conversations were ingrained in her mind, and they had been there even before the tapes.

_"Scully?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Are you um... are you alright?"  
"I'm fine. How are you?"  
"Scully..."  
"Mulder, I'm busy. Can we talk about this later?"  
"I'm worried about you."  
"Why? Because there are kids involved? Not every little girl is Emily, Mulder."  
"I know that."  
"Then stop worrying. I'm fine."  
"I hate when you say that."_

_"Hey beautiful."  
"Oh gross."  
"What, I can't flirt?"  
"No, you can't."  
"But I-"  
"You kissed me? Yeah, I was there. That does not give you license to flirt, Mulder. Besides, you're not very good at it."  
"That's not all I'm not good at."  
"Mulder, are you here for a certain reason?"  
"I heard you were down here. Hadn't seen you in a few days because you've been avoiding me. Kinda miss you a little."  
"We've been together every single day for seven years and you miss me? I don't think that's possible."  
"Okay, well you have been breathing every day for your whole life, and I bet if it was avoiding you, you'd miss it."_

_"Find anything interesting?"  
"She was pregnant."  
"She was?"  
"About 6 weeks."  
Long pause.  
"Scully..."  
"If the procedure had worked, I would be six weeks along now too. I know. The irony is not lost on me, Mulder."  
"I didn't think it was."  
Longer pause.  
"I don't think I'm fine this time._"

She missed him. More than she could possibly put into words, or even into thoughts. She wanted him home. She wanted him alive. But that would never happen. He was six feet under now, in the dark and the cold. A place where he would never meet their child, never see her again. She hurt for him. She hurt for the baby. But she did not hurt for herself. No, because she still had his voice. It was better than nothing. It was better than the little notes he had written her that she found in the oddest places. It was better than having his shirts draped across her pillow at night. It was better than eating sunflower seeds. It was better than keeping his badge with her at all times. It was better than the squeak of his couch, the drone of his TV and the light reflecting off his garage sale drinking glasses. It was even better than the memory of their last kiss. Because with his voice, she could close her eyes and feel his presence. His voice became her conscience, her compass, and her companion.

So each night she crawled into bed, turned on the CD and drifted to sleep, eager for the dreams where his voice would become a temporary reality, and she could see him just once more.


End file.
